


Golden Milk

by an_evasive_author



Series: Golden Milk [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brothers, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Father Figures, Foster Care, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character, Sickfic, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 13:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22497196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_evasive_author/pseuds/an_evasive_author
Summary: Maglor got injured during the last hunt, but that's alright. He has a loving mess of a family who will take care of him, no matter how much he might wish for it to stop.How lucky for him that no one cares what he wants.
Series: Golden Milk [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2082150
Comments: 4
Kudos: 76





	Golden Milk

Lying on his back, Elros looked at the dried orange standing on the windowsill.

Cloves had been pushed through the skin when it had still been fresh; By now it would have been far too tough. Not that there was much reason to any longer, full of cloves as it was.

The fresh, tangy scent of it wafted through the living room, it still smelled good after years of standing there.

Maedhros had called it a pomander. Though he also called the round metal ball, filled with things that smelled both good and medicinal a pomander.

The ball sat on a little saucer, so nothing would stain the windowsill. Not that it really mattered, but some habits could not be erased by time nor tribulations. Perhaps they were not like the princes of old, the race-traitors and kin-slayers which some of the books they had on their shelves talked about.

Neither Maedhros nor Maglor had ever offered excuses for what the texts accused them of. Elros respected that, for he could not imagine that it was easy to hear one's foster sons ask about the atrocities one had supposedly committed and confirm it to be true.

But even though they were no longer princes nor kings nor all that respected any longer, there were still habits neither one could shake.

Elros had helped stuff the metal ball with athelas, lavender and a dozen other things Elros both knew and had never heard the name of. It had been for Maglor who had barely left his room and had been quite in need of something calming.

Well, that and others things. Maglor had been quite needy these last few days. It was not meant as a cruel thought; Elros held nothing but fond love for his foster father.

No, this neediness came from a perfectly reasonable though no less awful reason.

* * *

In a household that fed still growing half-elven children, meat was a necessity. They had a cow for milk and eggs from their chickens, but Maglor still wished them to eat fish and meat from time to time.

And so he would go out hunting or fishing once in a while, though Elros suspected it was largely an excuse for Maglor to have some solitude in which to contemplate in peace.

Maedhros could hardly use a bow with only one hand and though he could fish with a spear, someone always remained at home to guard house, hearth and twins and sometimes home and hearth _from_ the twins.

They had not been allowed to accompany Maglor on his hunts and Elros was not certain if, when considering recent events, that had been a good or a bad thing.

It had been early evening, the time for tea, which Maedhros insisted upon as that was what civilised elves did, had passed not long ago and Elros had _just_ gotten comfortable on the tattered old couch when the door had been pushed open clumsily.

It had banged against the wall and Maedhros had angrily reprimanded from the kitchen where he did whatever it was he did alone in there.

Elros had not at first turned, he was lazy from the lingering warmth in his belly and the half-sleepy feeling preceding a nap. He had been, in fact, very comfortable.

It had to have been Maglor, for the last intruder had at least the good grace to holler about before he made it to the door. That one had never made it farther than the faded walls surrounding their home. It had still been rather scary and Elros remembered how Elrond and him had cowered under the table while outside Maedhros had raged about. Had they trembled more from the idea that outside a monster lurked, or from the ferocious roaring no elf should have ever been able to make?

But from where he had slouched, with his brother's arms around him and his own clutching at Elrond in return, Elrond's suddenly pale face had been perfectly visible. Elros had been so slow, so uncertain, to react and he still groused about that. If someone would just teach him how to _fight_...

But this was not a monster. It was simply Maglor.

As such, Elros had cocked his head to look. What he saw, and found it quite funny for a heartbeat, the way his brother gaped like a fish thrown on land, making inane sounds that where as much stammered, stuttered half-words as they were a desperate attempt to claw out whatever scream had lodged itself in Elrond's throat.

And then Elros had turned. He must have mirrored Elrond's face quite well that moment.

Leaning on the doorframe, Maglor had stood on wobbling, unsteady legs. Panting from whatever effort it had taken to drag himself home, dirtied from the ordeal he had been in. Blood both his own and the foul oiliness of orc blood had smeared his clothes, all along his left side it went, stained, even as he had pressed his arm onto it to stymie it and finding very little success.

Maglor had, for it was by now more reflex than conscious effort, tried to reassure them with some manner of comforting words and instead had only managed to tilt forward and crash to the floor, lifeless and limp.

There had been screaming, from the twins who found their tongues and voices at much the same moment, and Maedhros had appeared, summoned by the sudden commotion.

He had cursed in the way that would have send Maglor, had he still been awake, into his own yelling fits and had kneeled at his brothers side with speed such a tall elf did not look capable of. To see them so, Maglor fainted and Maedhros as blanched and pale as they themselves were. For a single, terrible moment, Elros had known that Maglor had to have been dead.

He was not, but just so.

Maglor had felt nothing of any of that, his own wounds or the fear his state had summoned into their home, and steadily bled onto the faded wooden floor.

They had no healer and no help safe what they themselves knew. Mostly Maedhros if they were perfectly honest. Having only one hand made proper wound care nearly impossible, but he could bark instructions with perfect precision and he could still carry his brother perfectly fine. It evened itself out, in the end.

Elrond and Elros were mostly good at following directions. That had been enough.

They had cleaned the remnants of tea, the pot and the little, chipped dish with crumbs left over and Elrond had wiped it down with a speed he had never displayed before when ordered to clean after supper or breakfast.

Maglor was tall, not as tall as Maedhros, Elros thought that would have been a very tough feat to accomplish indeed. But splayed out on their table, limp and raggedy like one of their toys that had broken and under threat of tears been mended, he had looked so terribly small and fragile.

Elros never wanted to see his father like this again.

Elrond had sewn Maglor up with fine, even stitches, composed under pressure though in tears when it had been done.

And when the worst had been over, Elros had helped while trying his very best at not simply fainting as well.

To see so much meant to be on the inside on the outside...

Elros' guts had turned watery at the sight, and still did when he thought back on it. That same liquid prickle that went hotly down the spine and curled somewhere in his stomach, dripping into the muscles of his calf.

But the worst seemed to be over.

Maglor had eventually awoken, groggy and in pain and then quite a bit more was added on that when Maedhros let loose upon him and called him all manners of names.

A fool he had called his brother and that had been the very kindest thing he had called him that night. An air-headed idiot, one unthinking about dangers and whatever it was that had happened, it had been _deserved_.

He had not come much farther because by then everyone was in some state of crying, some more composed than others.

It had been awful to see Maglor hurt, but it had been even worse when Maedhros had cried. Maedhros never showed such emotions in front of them.

Elros' gaze flickered to the discoloured spot where blood had seeped into the deepest crevices and fractures of the old, dusty floorboards. Like sun-baked dirt, the dry wood had drank it up and now the spot would perhaps never entirely fade again.

They had scrubbed vigorously, used buckets worth of cold water from the well and all of it had turned pink. This was the very best they could do. As far as Elros was concerned, it could remain that way.

He was ready to forget. To pretend this awful thing had never happened. Everything should go back to how it had been before, without nightmares that Maglor's shaking smile had indeed been the very last time they had seen him alive.

It had not helped that he slept alone in their room, for Elrond had hardly moved once out of Maglor's room, safe for the most dire reasons. And even then his gaze had begun to wander and always returned to the half-leaned door before too long.

* * *

“Elros, come here,” Maedhros said. He stood near the stove, stirring something in a sauce pot.

When Elros approached, Maedhros took the wooden handle and poured whatever it had been he had been slaving away over into a large cup. He took it and handed it over to Elros, making it effectively no longer his problem if Elros spilled any.

“Here, bring this to Maglor. And see to it that he _drinks_ it. No excuses, neither from him nor from you.”

“What's that?” Elros asked and looked down at this strange concoction. It was of a soft yellow colour like fresh wheat and smelled terribly of garlic. There were other things in there, most likely, but it felt impossible to concentrate on those.

“Milk, honey, garlic and turmeric. He hates it,” And with a wry smile Maedhros added, “Make sure he finishes the cup.”

“What if he doesn't?” Such were pressing concerns, for Maedhros had a whole plethora of threads and things to do for someone who would not take their medicine. If at all possible, Elros would spare Maglor such a fate.

Maedhros shrugged, “I don't know, think of something. Kick him, if necessary; He can't fight back at the moment.”

Elros stared at the milk still slopping around in the cup. Then up to Maedhros who had already turned away again, picking athelas bit by tedious bit into a bowl. “Alright,” Elros agreed and nodded, though more to himself than Maedhros.

* * *

“What's that?” Elrond asked when Elros had seated himself and held the cup close to Maglor who had already smelled the garlic and had pressed his ears back like a cornered animal.

“Golden milk,” Maglor said, hissed really, and pulled his lips into a toothed grin, “Or at least Maedhros' very loose interpretation of it...Do you want to try? Go right ahead, it is quite the experience.”

“Maedhros said you have to drink all of it,” Elros said and sounded as stern as any parent. Stern enough for Maglor to avert his eyes to escape his foster son's scolding. But Elros, who had tried the very same guilty expression dozens of times, remained unmoved. “Here, I'll help you.”

“This is getting me back for giving you that cod liver oil when the two of you had the measles, is it not?” Maglor asked before the cup was thrust in his face. There would be no getting out of that, Elros would not allow it. “Very well...”

“What's in it?” asked Elrond just like Elros had and while Maglor gulped down this abomination that was his brother's idea of medicine, Elros answered what Maedhros had told him.

“All of those are to treat sepsis and inflammation,” Elrond informed him and the little lilt of excitement in his voice spoke of pride about knowing that. While Maglor whined through his nose, Elrond flipped around in his book until he found whatever it was he had been looking for. “Those and potatoes; It says so here.”

And because no knowledge was good if it could not be applied, he looked towards the faded paintings on the ceiling. Turning back, his gaze found the golden milk, “Perhaps it would be even more effective if there were potatoes in it?”

“Absolutely not!” Maglor called when Elros allowed him to breathe between breaks. Not even he was so cruel as to force poor Maglor to swallow it all without any pause. “It is barely palatable without _potatoes_ in my drink.”

“Speaking of which,” Maedhros said just as he entered the room. With him he carried a tray piled high with scrounged together supplies. “We will have fried potatoes for supper.”

“With green onions?” Elros asked hopefully while he made ready for a second round of tormenting Maglor.

“If there are still some left over. But you will have to pick them, there are none in the pantry. Go check the flowerbed. And if you're already there, pick some herbs.”

“I will. Maglor, drink this.”

There was a whine and for a moment, Maglor looked rather more a child than anything else. “I do not _want_ to. It is horrible.”

“Maglor, stop whining. Do as the boy says.”

“Oh, I see how it is, I am being ganged up on.”

“Don't let yourself get stabbed then. Then you cannot be bullied by children.”

Elrond, however, looked terribly unhappy as he watched them squabble, not the least bit amused by their pettifoggery. With watery eyes, he looked at his foster father, “You should drink it, Maglor. Sepsis is dangerous...” he thumped his books and whatever had been written in it must have spooked him. Scared him enough that he forewent a chance to be cheeky with Maglor.

Maglor's gaze softened and though he did not, could not, move across the bed, he still grabbed for Elrond's hand. “Dear one, this is a book about human physiology. It does not reflect, entirely, what is needed for elves in such situations. It is...somewhat more dangerous for Man to suffer poisoning. I shall be _fine_ even without--” he nodded towards the milk, “Encouragement. It will just take some time.”

“Promise?”

At this, Maglor squeezed his fingers, “I promise. I will not swear to it, you know the reason. But I promise you this and we have always kept our promises to the both of you.”

Elrond nodded but he did not smile again. “I know...but...” Something had been bothering him, there was that grove in his brow whenever he thought. He looked so terribly focused and serious that way. “Why do they poison their weapons if we do not get killed by it?”

“Not we as in all four of us,” Maedhros said sternly, “We do not know how it affects you and I will be damned once more if we should come to find out.”

“They do not do it for any sort of strategy, not these ones. It is simply to hurt and to cause whatever pettiness they can. And other races, as far as I know, do sometimes get killed by poisons.”

“What is it like for you then?”

“I am not certain how to explain it.”

“Is it like a cold?” Because the twins had had their fair share of colds and other ailments, they could relate to that. “With fever symptoms and muscle pain and fatigue?”

“I am beginning to regret getting you those books about medicine,” Maedhros said.

“I'm not,” Maglor said. To Elrond, “I shall agree and if this is how you feel when the two of you are sick, perhaps I shall give you more honey in your tea.”

“Speaking of honey,” Maedhros said seizing upon his chance to change the subject, “Elros, if you would.”

Elros moved in with his cup and ignored Maglor's suddenly renewed plight. “After that, bandage change. Elros, you will go make supper.”

Without having to be told again, Elrond nodded eagerly. He had, at the mention of once more having to see the mess that was Maglor's injured side, had turned a shade of white that rivalled the old sheets.

He did not see the appeal nor the fascination in examining what amounted to some manner of...of _violation_. That's what this injury really was. An offence. It was bad enough that their more or less peaceful lives had been disturbed when whatever orc had thought itself brave enough to _attack Maglor_. But to have him injured, helpless, _in pain_...

It was a mark that would remain, a scar both on Maglor and in their thoughts. It had forced itself onto their lives... Elros had never seen it and yet this nameless orc had caused him greater fear than anything in years.

Elros hoped Maglor had had the time to make it suffer.

But more than that he wished Maglor to heal and never think about this again.

Maglor pushed the emptied cup into Maedhros' hand, “There you are, you remorseless oppressor. I drank it, every drop of this pigwash.”

“Why, how grown-up you act today, Maglor. Maybe you will get a sweet for behaving so well.”

“I know your ideas of treats, keep your garlic to yourself.”

Elros giggled at that but stepped out before too long to search for green onions and fix supper.

But he was still half-way caught in his musings. It was not easy to voice these thoughts without sounding like... like a _lunatic_ and so he was content with the others thinking that he was just very squeamish which was also true but not the entirety of it.

Digging out green onions was much more preferable than mending ripped stitches and seeing what muscles had taken damage. If there was any gangrene or detritus stuck in the wound or whatever it was they did in there.

Once, while Elros filled the pan with butter and sautéed onions, he could hear Maglor's pained groan and moments later Elrond emerged, scuttled away and fetched something from Maedhros' room before vanishing again.

But as long as no one called for him, Elros did not need to know the details. Instead he filled the pan with chunks of cooked potato and mourned the fact that he still could not manage to flip the large cast iron monstrosity. It would be so much easier if he could simply shift the pieces with one motion instead of moving them bit by bit with the wooden spoon.

Maedhros could do it with one hand, though it was as much out of necessity as it was by sheer unfairness. Elros had seen him split an orc's head with the old axe they used to chop firewood with the same ease as one might display while cutting an apple.

If Elros could manage to lift it easily, to flip pancakes and vegetables and potatoes with only a flick of the wrist, would Maedhros finally teach him how to use the sword? It would not even need to be a large one...

* * *

When he pushed the door open tentatively, it was already over. All was neat again and if there had been blood, the scent had already aired out. “Supper's ready,” Elros said, standing in the doorway.

Elrond jumped from the mattress and away he was to set the table, he nudged his brother as he passed by and laughed when Elros swatted after him.

Maglor climbed by himself and stood, one arm still hovering just over his hurt side. “Thank you, Elros,” he smiled and when Maedhros helped him along, hovering over him like some fox-red spectre, he leaned heavily against him.

“Are you coming? I'm hungry!” called Elrond from the dining room, for there would be no eating if they were not all present.

“Don't be so _impatient_ , Elrond!” Maedhros barked back and muttered to himself. But the usual bite that followed when he was truly displeased lacked from it.

“Run along, Elros. Go dish up; The two of you can start. It will be a moment longer with us,” Maglor said and ignored Maedhros' grumbling,

Elros, hungry as well despite stealing more than a few bites between cooking, nodded and followed after his brother.

* * *

They ate and whatever resistance the mountain of fried potatoes and green onions had put up with its sheer presence, it was conquered in the face of the hungry twins and the sheer amount of nutrition Maedhros needed to properly function was enough to lay waste to it.

Maglor picked at his own portion, ate a few of the green onions and perhaps a single slice of potato and then pushed his plate away.

“ _Maglor_ ,” Maedhros said and it sounded like an exasperated father might scold his very fussy son.

“Do not Maglor me,” Maglor snapped back, “I _know_. I simply do not feel like it...”

Maedhros' piercing gaze lingered a bit longer but finally he nodded, once, “Alright. This time. Elrond, put a plate back for him.” To Maglor, in a voice that was far softer then what he usually used, “If you get peckish, eat it, request for it if you want; I will bring it myself it you wish it.”

Maglor smiled, “I shall, but I think I will lay down for a bit.”

He seemed to think better of it, for a shrewd smile painted his lips. “I need not be on my feet to look over your assignments, after all.”

“Maglor, no!” called the twins and whined as one.

Begging never worked in this house but that did not stop them from trying.

* * *

It was already dark outside when Maglor allowed them to stagger away, essays graded with little notes in the margins and Tengwar sufficiently quizzed.

“It is bedtime soon, Elros, don't forget,” Maglor called after him. Some part of Elros should have been happy that Maglor had returned to his vigorous and animated manner, considering that there had been barely anything resembling lessons taken place. Safe that very improvised demonstration in anatomy...

But Elros would be the last one to complain about a lack of assignments and endless studying.

Elrond stayed behind, fussing quietly and soothing his own anxiety by remaining glued to Maglor's side.

“Now now, I am fine, dear one. You should go and play,” Maglor said and stroked Elrond's hair.

“I'd rather stay...” Elrond said softly and nuzzled against Maglor's shoulder.

Maglor brought out his arm and pulled him close, “I won't force you in either case. Tell me what you are reading?”

Elrond nodded and opened the faded and scuffed cover of the book he had dragged in.

* * *

Elros drew the orange, the pomander in the kitchen, which had chased away the smell of cookery. Everything smelled faintly of orange and cloves again.

It was not a challenging thing to draw, indeed it was just a lumpy ball with little nubs sticking out everywhere. But Elros was not particularly motivated and so he merely scribbled over his page until it became late and Maedhros sent him off to bed.

That should have been the end of it; Neither twin was particularly fussy when it came to their bedtime. Elros washed up and threw his clothing over the chair in their room and finally climbed into bed.

He came awake in the middle of the night because it was too silent and could not get back to sleep because he was thirsty. What a conundrum.

Elrond had not gone to his own bed, instead he slept in Maglor's room.

Maedhros snorted and hissed something that could have been a word. He shifted around but did not wake. He would be groggy and in a truly terrible mood if he spent the entire night slouched over the table and so Elros rather woke him now than find himself saddled with chopping wood the next.

He prodded at Maedhros from an angle were, if Maedhros' sleep addled mind decided to see him as an intruder and swipe at him, he would not be smacked in the face. One quickly learned to master this trick or risk swatting.

Maedhros came awake without a fight this time and when he spotted Elros, he groaned. “What time is it?”

“Bedtime?” Elros suggested, ever so helpfully.

“Ah, well then...” Maedhros murmured and dragged himself off to his own bed.

A door shut and Elros was now alone. Normally Elrond would have been with him and more than once it had taken the both of them to convince Maedhros to go to bed. He had moods like that.

But he did not want to return to bed, all alone with no brother to sleep in the bed next to him. It was so lonely...

As if summoned by Elros' mounting distress, Maglor came wandering out of the wash room. His face was flushed and still damp when he had washed it. He wiped his hands on his own nightshirt, something that was both horribly uncouth and normally an endless source for screaming on Maglor's own part. It seemed he could not be bothered tonight to search for a towel.

“Elros,” Maglor said, a tad surprised, when Elros steadied him by hooking his arm with Maglor's. “You are not in bed.”

They made their way towards Maglor's bedroom and Elros could smell the lavender wafting its gentle scents from the pomander. A bit of valerian root had been put in as well and Elros found himself calmer and already a little sleepier.

“I thought I would make the last round and see that the doors are locked. And that Maedhros is in bed.” That certainly sounded better than him not being able to sleep because Elrond was not snoring into his ear.

Maglor smiled, “Thank you, he slipped my mind with everything going on...”

“Can't be helped...” he said and found himself utterly reluctant to leave again. It was so nice and warm here, everything smelled good. Elrond snored on the side of the large bed, tucked in under the quilts.

Maglor slid under the covers and held his hissing exclamations to a minimum.

“Maglor, can I sleep in your room tonight?” Elros asked before he had truly thought about it. He had simply voiced his desire.

“Mind the side, if you would. And your brother.” Maglor smiled and under the faint light it looked not as bad nor pained as it had the day before.

Elros paid his twin on the other side no further mind and carefully climbed into Maglor's bed, underneath the warm covers while Maglor tucked and pulled them over all three of them.

A hand combed through Elros' hair in slow, soothing motions and Elros closed his eyes contently. Maglor hummed and the melody had been with the twins for many years. It meant safety and comfort. Elros wondered if it was one from Maglor's own childhood but had not yet found it over pressing to ask.

He was certain Maglor would have answered him if he asked, what reason was there not to? But it was something special, something that was best enjoyed in peace and silence. To ask about it would take some of it away, lessen it to another topic to talk about.

But even now, something held him back from simply surrendering himself to sleep. There was one thing that had bothered him all evening. Even, or because of, the monotone work of greasing the pan frying up the potatoes and repeating, he had thought.

“Did you tell the whole truth?” Elros asked into the darkness. The fingers in his hair continued to comb but the song faded.

“How do you mean?” asked Maglor.

“The poison. That elves cannot be killed by it? Why would we use athelas if we—you, if _elves_ need only time?”

Maedhros had been out after the very worst had been over, he had been the one to determine that Maglor's wounds were poisoned, to gather athelas. He had taken Elros with him, for Elrond had remained at Maglor's side, unbudging.

Maglor rubbed Elros' back in little circles, gentle and soothing.

“One does not need to be in mortal danger to wish for an antidote or anything that lessens agony,” Maglor reminded him. But it was not the end of it. “There _are_ ways to kill us, Elros. You know of it from your books and you were there, even if most of it happened far enough away and you were too small to remember it properly.”

Elros curled closer though never straying too close to Maglor's side in ever present fear of _hurting_ him.

Maglor's arm came around Elros' shoulders, “These orcs use what nastiness they find to smear onto their blades and for a human, this might be enough to cause deadly sepsis. Poisonous mushrooms and muck from ponds dragged into wounds...They can die by scratching themselves on a rusty nail, you know? Fragile things, endlessly fragile.”

At Elros' incredulous look, Maglor nodded gravely, “An animals bite can cause them _rabies_. I have seen it. Fine minds, reduced to drooling insanity because of foxes living in the woods near them. I hope dearly that you will never have to see it.”

“There _are_ poisons, crafted carefully and expensively which might bring permanent harm to elves but it is not easy to make and takes time. This some orcs use, if they have a chieftain or some leader who knows how to acquire it. And these are dangerous, Elros. They would not hesitate to use it if it meant it would save their hides or to have some fun.”

“They are awful...”

“They are,” Maglor agreed and leaned down, painfully tedious, to kiss Elros' brow. “No matter, it is over.”

“For now...”

“It is,” Maglor reassured him and shuffled deeper into the bedding, winced once and finally settled. His half-buried face, turned towards the shuttered window looked waxy and the rings under his eyes looked even darker in contrast. But his voice was as warm as it always was and Elros could hear the smile in it, “Come, it is time for us to sleep.”

Elros yawned and nodded his agreement. He was tired again, with his brother's breathing on the other side of the bed, all was well again.

Some might have been troubled by the things Maglor had told him. But for Elros, to be trusted with such grave matters, to be treated like an adult, that felt very nice indeed. His curiosity sated, he drifted off, the last notes of Maglor's lullaby still lingering in his ears.


End file.
